


in the darkness on the edge of town: alternate POVs & pre-series snippets

by janie_tangerine



Series: a runaway American dream [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate POVs from the main fic, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bruce Springsteen References, Dissociation, F/M, Idiots in Love, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Prostitution, Sex Work, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 20:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which you get two prequel snippets of the original story and three alternate POVs.





	1. jaime/sandor prequel #1

**Author's Note:**

> HEEEEY SO, while I was writing the main fic on tumblr I ended up doing a WIP meme for which people could ask alternate POVs for a scene, missing moments or small snippets for what had happened before the fic and I was asked to put them all in the same place so here we go, if I ever do it again for this fic everything goes here. In order, these will be two Jaime/Sandor prequel pieces and Jaime's POV of three specific scenes. The first chapter is a Jaime/Sandor snippet referencing a thing discussed in chapter four of the original fic. Have fun! <3
> 
> (obviously, the title of the series is from springsteen just not the same record, nothing belongs to me and so on ;) )

“Keep the twenty,” Jaime says when Sandor hands him the usual seventy just before they go upstairs.

For a moment, he’s halfway sure that the man looked _disappointed_. 

Ah.

Right.

Of course he assumed he’s not taking the twenty because he doesn’t want to do what Sandor is paying him for with _that_.

He shakes his head, then reaches upward and puts his hand on the scarred side of Sandor’s face, feeling him go still the moment he does it.

“Clegane, fuck’s sake,” Jaime sighs, “I’m not taking it because I feel like shit doing it, all right?”

“You _feel like shit_,” Sandor rasps, not sounding too convinced.

“I don’t mind it. I don’t _care_. It doesn’t feel revolting or anything. I can’t take your fucking money for it when I’d be doing it anyway. Let me just have a conscience here, I don’t want to feel like I’m scamming you.”

He runs his thumb over the scarred skin underneath his hand once, twice. He can feel the outline of a bone underneath.

Fuck’s sake, he was _lucky_ he only ever got out of his only run-in with Gregor Clegane with only bruises. And the poor bastard in front of him was _twelve_ when that happened.

All things considered, Jaime really doesn’t think he can keep on charging him extra.

“Fuck’s sake,” Sandor says, “you’re serious.”

“Wow, I was giving up money for _fun_. Come on, let’s just go upstairs and stop looking at me like I’m your Christmas present. Some of us are fundamentally fucking decent, I should hope.”

They stare at each other for a moment. He thinks the corner of Sandor’s mouth has lifted in a half-smile.

“Some of _you_ might be,” he agrees. He puts his twenty back in his pocket and Jaime breathes in relief.

He pockets the fifty, then heads upstairs, knowing that Sandor’s following him. Good.

He couldn’t afford to lose the only client he has that he doesn’t loathe, after all, but he also couldn’t keep on fucking _charging him extra_.

If only it wasn’t sad that _he_ is the man’s only option to get laid, but he’ll see to make his fifty worth his while.


	2. jaime/sandor prequel #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone else asked for more pre-fic Jaime/Sandor so have a Sandor pov. ;)

It’s not that Sandor hadn’t suspected that there had been something fishy in between Lannister and his fucking sister.

But since the idiot went and straight up told him the whole ugly truth just after Sandor spilled his own when it came to Gregor, and that was just because he had figured Lannister was the closest he could find to someone who’d _get_ it, he has - _noticed_ things, but he had figured he was making them up… until Lannister told him to stop giving him the damned extra and things between them got somewhat more comfortable the way they do when you’re not _friends_ with someone but the two of you know each others’s worst secret and trust each other to keep it.

At that point, maybe he had begun to think that his moaning didn’t sound _too_ fake, and that maybe Lannister wasn’t _completely_ acting when he didn’t look bored the moment he opened the door for him, and maybe Sandor wasn’t making things up either when he started getting a feeling that Lannister might actually half-enjoy it when they fuck.

It felt fairly weird, admittedly, because that’s just not what people around him do - none of the few girls he’s been with seemed to actually _like_ it, or better, they did until he was doing all the work.

But while kissing is off limits, Lannister _will_ be mostly down with anything else, and he certainly didn’t seem to hate giving him head or touching his face (_that’s for sure, isn’t it_) and - it didn’t compute. It still doesn’t. But the more time passes the more signs point _there, _and so maybe it’s not like Sandor wants it _rough_ differently from what people assume. He likes it better slow, and if only his other partners were into it he _would_ like paying attention to them and for them to get off before he does, and so what if when he’s slow and thorough and takes his time when it comes to how he spends his money?

Anyway: after that conversation, he can’t help thinking that Lannister _does_ seem to be into it, when he’s slower and more careful and pinning him to the bed while not _roughly_.

He probably shouldn’t ask about it, but one day he does, out of curiosity and out of kind of wanting to know if this is his latest delusion in which he assumes _someone_ might not find him repulsive in bed when it comes to, well, looking at him in the face. It helps that it’s three AM and Sandor said he’d buy Lannister a beer at the open all night diner ten minutes from town if he felt up to it, and they’re sharing it as if they haven’t fucked until _then_.

He does ask, _do you actually not hate it when we fuck._

Lannister raises an eyebrow and takes a drink.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says, “you’re the only client I have that gives a damn whether I get off or not, you actually give a fuck either way and while I wouldn’t fuck men if it wasn’t for money as a general thing, _you_ are definitely not hard on the eyes. Sure I don’t hate it when we fuck. If other people are so stupid to let a few scars deter them, I’m not surprised, but what the hell, this town is choke-full of stupid people. And you’ll owe me another drink for the dumb question.”   


He half-smirks as he finishes his drink. Sandor’s not _smiling_. Sandor is trying to not say something potentially embarrassing.

“Your funeral,” he sets on.

Then he asks for another beer. Lannister half-smiles, looking genuinely pleased.

Sandor is still thinking both of them are fucked up to hell and back, but as he looks ahead he can’t help thinking, traitorously, _his sister had no fucking idea of what she was ruining_.

He’s never going to say it out loud, nor he’ll ever tell the guy that if he ever finds better than _this_ he should go for it.

But at the same time no one can blame him if he feels maybe a bit warmer in his bones after having heard _that_.


	3. jaime/brienne: jaime pov of their first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanted Jaime pov of their first meeting and here we go. ;)

He’s currently resigned to an evening of utter boredom when someone rings the doorbell.

For a moment, Jaime thinks he made it up - he has no appointments scheduled for tonight, this entire _month_ is a shit trade for that matter, but no. Someone _did_ ring the bell. It’s weird - he doesn’t usually get new clients that aren’t brought by someone else and to be honest he has his damned rooster full for now, he doesn’t think he needs any _more_. Still, he hasn’t made any money this entire week and he can’t look at gift horses in the mouth, and if it means suffering through another hour of sex he doesn’t like, whatever. He’ll cope.

He goes downstairs, glances out of the window, but it’s too dark to see. It’s someone tall, though. Someone he’s sure he’s never _seen_ before in his entire life. He can’t even understand if it’s a man or a woman.

He opens the door just a bit. He figures he’ll stay on the neutral side.

“What do you want?” He asks, not trying to sound excited but not too disappointed, either. He knows it’s not exactly _pleasant_, but he can’t give two fucks.

“I need to buy a service and you’re the only man in this hole of a town who sells it,” a female voice replies, and - _wait_. She sounds angry. But not at _him_. In general. And the way she says _hole of a town_… well, she sounds like _he_ sounds when he talks about this shitty place. Also wait, if she’s _that_ tall -

He opens the door some more. Oh, _shit_, has to be that girl that goes to his brother’s diner - he did tell Jaime about her. Tall, she used to be in the football team, blonde, she didn’t get to go to college because they didn’t take her on account of being a _woman_, most likely. What was the name - _right_.

“Brienne Tarth, right?” He asks.   


Her eyes go wide in surprise.

“How did you know?”

He scoffs, not unkindly. “I don’t go into town, but my brother tells me things. Fine. Get in and lock the door,’’ he tells her, figuring that at least he’ll find out why she’d be _here_ of all places.

He waits until she’s in, then leads her through his hallway to his living room, where he has full lights on. And then he takes a full look at her.

_Fuck_. She’s definitely taller than him, a few inches but she _is_. She’s wearing nice jeans that show off extremely long legs, and she’s broader than he is, and it’s obvious that her nose has been broken at least twice. Her pale blonde hair is tied in a messy bun and she’s drowning in a jacket that hides a fairly flat chest - she has her hands spasming in her pockets, and she’s obviously nervous as _hell_, and then she looks at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes surrounded by skin scattered in freckles on a face that he figures to most people would look ugly.

Except that Jaime, who has had years to actually put two and two together about his damned fucking issues and to realize that he actually never was into how Cersei _looked_, is suddenly feeling a lot better about this entire situation. She’s - she’s _exactly_ what he looks for in people, and it’s a type that’s not very common, _especially_ women. And she’s looking at him like she wants the ground to swallow her whole and it’s a damn bad look on her. He clears his throat, since it’s obvious _she_ isn’t going to talk.

“So, I think I have half of your reasoning guessed.”   


“Do you,” she replies as he motions for her to sit on his sofa. “Shoot, then.”

“Hm, you were the only woman in this godforsaken shitty town’s high school who could have gotten away with a football scholarship but they didn’t take you anywhere most likely because you’re a woman and you can’t afford the full tuition, or did I get something wrong?” He’s delighted as her eyes go wide and nods slightly - good thing he remembered. He doesn’t know why that story stuck with her when Tyrion told him.

Mostly because maybe for a moment he had thought, _I get it_.

“No,” she answers. “I suppose you want to know the other half.”   


“Well,” he replies, “technically, it would change nothing. But I like to do my job right, for what it’s worth, so if you told me why is it that you’re here obviously clutching money in that hand of yours, it could make sure you spent that properly.” Her cheeks flush. Shit, has she even ever _had sex_, he wonders, and he has a feeling that maybe she hasn’t, and it wouldn’t be the first time he has someone who’s never been with anyone else, but she also looks pained as she thinks about it. What the _hell_?

“It’s not like half of the people around here doesn’t know regardless,” she sighs. “Well — my former teammates.”

“Yes?”

“I’m working at Mr. Harlaw’s bookshop these days. Because none of those colleges would want me. And my father can’t shoulder all the bills on his own. They started dropping by and playing nice and asking me out. I was flattered.”

“I take you shouldn’t have been?” Considering how she’s keeping her anger carefully tied under that calm tone, he has a feeling he’s about to hear something very, very ugly.

She shakes her head. “I closed up earlier one day and I heard them talking behind the corner. They had a bet.”

“… They had a _what_?” The moment she hears her say it with that flat voice, _he_ loses his own business tone before he realizes it. What the _fuck_ \- if it’s about having sex with her, then her teammates are a bunch of assholes to say the least, and _who the fuck does that_? Especially when she obviously isn’t what you call conventional attractive, who the hell has time to waste to play with people’s feelings like _that?_

(_He thinks of Cersei for a moment. He wants to throw up._)

“A bet. About who’d get to fuck me first.” Well, _shit_, he was right. “Because of course they all knew I’m not, well, I’ve never done it. With anyone else.” She looks up at him, finally, and he can’t help it - he knows he must look sympathetic right now, but of course he would be. Fuck, she seems like a nice girl, and she hasn’t been an ass nor has walked in here like she owns the place nor has talked to him like he’s there just to provide _that_ service… and people wanted to _bet_ on that? Fuck. These are times when he doesn’t regret that he doesn’t talk to anyone who isn’t Tyrion. He nods, encouraging her to go on.

“And,” she goes on, “I decided that it wasn’t worth the hassle.”   


“So, you’re here because —” He starts, thinking he knows where this is going.

“I’m here because being a goddamn virgin has only brought me pain and trouble I never asked for and I know that if I wait for the right guy to show up I’ll die one, and I honestly can’t — I can’t do that again. And if I lied about it people would know. So, yes, I want to walk out of the door not being one, if you’ll have me, obviously.”

The entire first part of that speech was exactly what he expected.

Then she says _that_.

What the - has she _seriously_ asked _if he’ll have her_? He knows that he must look as surprised as he feels as he asks her, “If I will have you?” 

Her cheeks are blushing as red as ripe strawberries as she nods. He wonders how many freckles she has on her skin. She also looks like she still wants the ground to swallow her whole, and Jaime can only think, _she shouldn’t_. 

“I wouldn’t presume that since — since this is your trade, then you’ll take anyone who comes through the door. I mean. If you don’t want to, you shouldn’t feel obliged to.”

For -

Jaime feels floored. He’s been doing this damned job for _years_. No one - no one has ever - no one has ever wondered if he actually _might not want them_, and the fact that _she_ is asking when he actually _would_ hit on her if he actually was in a position to hit on people in bars and not in the one he’s currently in almost makes his head spin. Christ. And she means it. He can see it from the way she looks at him. If he said no, she’d leave.

No one -

No one he’s ever said no to -

He shakes his head.

“Miss Tarth,” he says, trying to not sound like he’s going to faint, “just so you know, you’re the first person who’s walked through this door in the last ten years and worried about whether I wanted to have sex with them or not.”

“… Am I?” She asks, and she looks shocked of the fact. Christ, she really has no idea, has she?

“For that matter — never mind,” he says, figuring that explaining her _that_ now would be pointless. He can’t. And honestly, after hearing that story, he _would_ have said yes either way - he can see why she wants to be done with it, and she was - she was considerate enough to actually assume he might have a say in accepting her or not. Of course he’ll take her. Never mind that the more he looks at her legs the more he feels turned on, but he figures telling her _that_ might be a problem. “So, before your hand gets cramped, I’ll tell you what I tell any other prospective client.”

Her eyes go wide as he speaks. Oh. Did she really think he _wouldn’t _have her?

“I can charge for… specific things, if you only want that, but admittedly that’s more common with men. For an hour, it’s fifty dollars, but as this week business is dead, you’re the first client in three days and given the circumstances, if it takes longer than that I won’t charge you extra. No kissing.” For once, he’s kind of sad he implemented that rule because he _does_ want to kiss her, but he can’t start making exceptions to it now. He’s following it for one damned reason. “Condoms are non-negotiable for women, but I suppose you don’t want to risk getting pregnant.”

“Of course not —” She says, looking horrified at the idea.

“Good. I — oh, fuck it, none of my usual speech would work with you anyway.” He could tell her about all the extras, asking her if she wants to hit him or tie him up or be rough or ask him to wear specific clothing, same as he does to anyone else, but she looks like she just wants a nice first time and he’d feel fucking idiotic listing all of that to her. “If you feel uncomfortable say it and we call it off or start again, but payment is up front.”

“Of course,” she nods. “And if you feel uncomfortable —”

“… If I do?”

What the _fuck. _

If no one ever wondered if he wanted them in his bed or not, sure as hell no one ever assumed he’d be uncomfortable with things.

And here she is… telling him _he_ could call it off when she’s paying? Where the _fuck_ does she even come from?

“You might. I don’t know, it goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

He stares at her, _is she fucking real _running through his mind in a loop before he shakes his head again and standing up. “Christ,” he says, “never mind it. Right.”

He holds out a hand - payment up front, after all. She nods, taking the money from her pockets, and slipping a fifty inside his fingers, and for the first time in a while, he feels kind of dirty as he checks it. It’s good. He shakes his head again. 

“Good,” he says, slipping it in his pocket. “Leave that coat and come upstairs.” Then he grins at her and heads for the clients’ bedroom as he hears her taking the coat off and hurry upstairs.

Shit.

He doesn’t - he doesn’t know what to make of her, of her blue, pretty eyes on that homely face staring at him like she actually _does_ respect him enough even if _this_ is the job he does, or of her earnest stare as she looked at him and said _it goes both ways_ when it hasn’t gone both ways for him for a long time or ever, and he thinks that a bunch of assholes actually went and hurt _her_ that much when she’s the nicest person he thinks he’s met in years, and they’ve spoken for five minutes.

Well then. He probably won’t see her again after today, and a part of him is maybe sad at considering it, he doesn’t know _why_, but he vows to himself that she’s going to leave this damned house fully satisfied with her purchase. If anything, she deserves a better first time than any asshole who _bets_ on fucking a woman for the first time could provide.

And he’s pretty damned sure that if there’s _one_ thing he can do for her, that’s… that’s about it.

So he will.


	4. jaime/brienne: jaime pov of the 'I dreamed of you' scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This anon wanted a Jaime pov from the chapter one scene where she tells him she dreamed of him. Here we go. :)

He doesn’t expect the knock on the door this evening, either. November _really_ is a shit month for business, but what can he do about that. He wasn’t feeling much up for it either way, and truth to be told the three times he’s had anyone over since Brienne Tarth have been… even more lackluster than usual. He doesn’t know what was about that girl - the eagerness, the fact that she wasn’t _faking_ anything, the fact that she gave a fuck, the fact that it hadn’t felt like mere business, that he was actually attracted to her for once, he _doesn’t know_ \- but it had felt remarkably better than _any_ fuck he’s had since starting this job. He supposes it would be too much luck to hope she’ll show up again - most likely it’s someone from his regulars who managed to escape the family.

Still, he has bills to pay. He stands up and goes to open the door.

And -

It’s Brienne Tarth.

He _almost_ smiles as he sees her, but she looks embarrassed as hell and he doesn’t want her to assume he’s making fun of her, so he doesn’t.

“Huh,” he asks, “what brings you here? You want a refund?”

He doesn’t try to hide that he doesn’t mean it, and meanwhile he can see that she’s eyeing the bruise Lysa Tully left on his neck the other day. She says nothing, though, and doesn’t laugh as she stares up at him and says, “No, I want another round.”

_Well_, he thinks, _maybe for once I’m getting lucky if she means it_. He moves to the side so she can come in. “Let’s talk, then,” he tells her, and doesn’t try to hide that he’s entirely fine with this turn of events.

Except, she’s blushing and not _talking_, so he figures maybe he’ll goat her a little. After all, she did say she wants another round, right?

“So, “I suppose my dick’s that good?”   


She laughs at that. Not much, but she does. Pity. She looks prettier, if she does it, and where did _that_ come from?

“Maybe,” she finally says, “but don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“Well,” he smiles back, “no one’s booked me for the night. What can I do for you then? You want another round like the last time? Because believe me, you have no reason to look that worried if it’s the case.” He figures he should let her know that before she dies of worry or whatever.

“… I don’t?” She sounds so surprised he _has_ to laugh, even if he doesn’t really feel it, but - it’s just so out of this world, he just can’t not. He thinks of the people he usually beds and then he thinks of how she had looked at him that first night, like she actually _cared_ either way, and for a moment he feels very, very sad that _she_ is surprised that someone might want to fuck her twice.

“Brienne, I see you’re a… direct person. Can I be the same to you?” He asks, figuring there’s no point in beating around the bush.

“Of — of course. I mean. I know I’m paying, but — I wouldn’t want you to lie. I’ve been lied to enough.” She sounds like she means it. Good. He nods, takes a breath and just _says it_.

“If you think that in this job the worst thing that might happen to anyone is — being the first for someone who’s obviously a nicer person than fucking average when it comes to people around here and who’ll even worry about you getting off, then you’re fucking wrong.” He stares at her as he talks and merely tells her the truth, and he can see her cheeks blushing crimson as he speaks. Shit. The world is really unfair, isn’t it. “So, do you want another round?” He finishes, figuring that they should get back to the matter at hand.

“I — I do,” she finally answers, her cheeks still the color of the ripe cherries he used to eat once and doesn’t eat anymore these days because they don’t come cheap, “but — not like the last time. I mean. Uh. I had a dream.”

Oh, now that’s interesting. He smiles, wondering what it was about. “Oh, really. About me?” He doesn’t really think that it was. He says it just for the fun of it. Except that then she looks up at him looking extremely serious, and -

“Maybe,” she says, and _wait_, did she say that - _that he guessed right_? “I — it was the same as what we did the last time, but — I was doing to you what you did to me.” She’s stammering by now, but she’s not lowering her eyes. Jesus. _Doing to you what you did to me -_

“And — I thought about doing the same with others, but — it didn’t quite — it didn’t feel the same. I want — how much is it for that? If you want to, of course.”

She had looked down but then she looks up at him again, and fuck, _fuck_, for a moment he had imagined lying down on the bed with her on top of him and her mouth kissing its way down his waist first and then going to his dick later and he had felt his blood boil for the first time in _years_, because then if she did that then she’d - she’d be doing exactly what he secretly wants out of sex except that he never gets it, and he knows his throat is moving spasmodically as their eyes meet, and hers are so blue and so large and so pretty and _she means it_ —

“With the same,” he asks, not believing his luck, “you mean… exactly the reverse? No tying up, no choking, no —”

“No,” she denies, and for a moment he’s disappointed because _fuck_ if he wouldn’t be down for it if she tied him to the bed - “Just, uh, the same.”

But he can work with _that_. “Well,” he goes on, trying to not think about the fact that she said that she did try to imagine other people in his place but _it didn’t work_, “I usually charge extra for… specifics, but it doesn’t seem like it’s what you’re asking for. No kissing is still a rule.” _Too bad_, he doesn’t add, but - he can’t break it, as much as he’d like. It’s there for _that damned reason_. He’s not risking getting burned again. Not ever, if he can help it, even if now he’s sad they couldn’t have met like normal people, because he thinks he _would_ like to kiss her. He would like that, indeed.

But that’s not how the world works, and so he holds his hand out and waits for her to slip the fifty dollars note inside it, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt dirtier in his entire career in this field as right now.

Still. He gets what he wants, for once. And she said she dreamed of him.

That almost sounds romantic. _Almost_. He wishes -

Never mind. Wishes aren’t worth shit and he knows it. But still, he does smile at her, meaning it. She deserves that much.

“Well then,” he asks, and for the first time in years he actually _means _it, “how do you want me?”


	5. jaime/brienne, jaime pov of the first kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand for last, someone wanted a random alternate POV and I went for the Jaime pov of the kiss in chapter one. Same warnings apply as for the original scene.

The moment he sees Cersei raising her arm and he _feels_ that ruby on that ring of hers hit the lower side of his face, he - he can’t do this anymore.   


He tried, he _tried_, same as he had years ago, but nothing has changed, she’s always the same and he’s always he same and he can’t stand up to her as much as he wishes he _could_, but it’s useless, it’s _useless_, and so he just - he checks out, same as he _always_ used to, and suddenly that sharp pain isn’t as bad anymore and he’s barely hearing what she’s saying and he’s thinking of the last time he and Tyrion went to see a movie two months ago and didn’t discuss his job once, and he’s trying to remember the plot as clearly as he can, he remembers that Tyrion laughed all the way through but _he_ didn’t but he doesn’t recall why, but it was about this couple who had stupid arguments and made up at the end and she wanted him to be less cautious and something had just - made it _not funny_ to him, but Tyrion liked it and so he hadn’t cared, and he thought Jane Fonda might have looked pretty in it but she wasn’t really his type, too petite and too thin and too short, and he can feel that Cersei is talking and maybe someone else is but he doesn’t even want to know, he doesn’t _care_, fuck he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t, and he thinks he’s staring at his hands as he tries to think about how even if he didn’t really like that movie the two of them had _fun_ that afternoon, just once -

He thinks someone’s calling him. It should be Cersei. It’s most likely Cersei. So he won’t -

“Jaime?” That voice asks again, more urgently, as a hand touches his arm gently, barely, and that drags him back to earth at once - he blinks once, twice, then turns to his side -   


“Brienne?” He whispers as he sees that it wasn’t Cersei after all - it was _her_, and Cersei’s not in the room anymore, and she’s holding herself back with just that hand on his arm as if she’s scared he’ll bolt, as if he wasn’t feeling like he could cry in relief just at seeing _her_ here, and then she puts another hand around his other arm, still so carefully -   


“I — I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I was passing by and — what do you need?” She blurts, and he suddenly can’t - he can’t make sense of it. He can make sense that she passed by and kicked Cersei out, oh, _that_ he can, but asking what he needs -   


No one ever _asks him what he needs_ -

He says nothing as he feels his knees give out the moment adrenaline leaves his body and he can feel how his face is burning, but then she catches him with those oh so strong arms of hers, and he can feel that she’s going towards the sofa but he doesn’t want _that_ right now, and so he throws his arms around her neck desperately hoping she won’t push him away same as almost everyone always does, and she _doesn’t_, fuck she doesn’t and then her hand is in his hair and she’s gentle, _gentler than Cersei ever was or could have ever been_, and suddenly a sob leaves his throat even if he had tried to keep it in, but this is _too_ much and she’s _here_ and she’s not just leaving him to ride it out on the sofa same as he has every other time Cersei came here -

“I’m sorry,” she says, her hand stopping, and no, he never wanted her to stop, and is she _apologizing_ -   


“For _what_,” he says, moving back, staring at her, and she’s looking at him with her huge, worried blue eyes as if she cares, as if she gives a fuck, as if she’s here because she wants to be, and suddenly he can’t -

He’s wanted to kiss her for weeks, he’s been hoping she’d come back for longer, he’s felt bad about accepting her money for about as long, and he cannot - he _cannot_ \- he doesn’t even think before he frames her face in his hands and kisses her, the first kiss he’s given anyone since Cersei, and his heartbeat is off the charts as she goes still and then moves back and for a moment he thinks _I’ve fucked it up, of course, I’m an idiot, she always said I’m the stupidest of all of them and she’s right_, but then one of Brienne’s hands is on _his_ face and she’s sending him a disbelieving stare.

“Wait,” she says, “wait, I can’t if you’re — why would you —”   


Oh. _Oh_. She thinks - she thinks he’s not thinking straight and that he couldn’t want it because she’s _ugly_ or whatever the fuck it means -

No.

“Brienne,” he interrupts, realizing that he’s rushing it but it’s the most important conversation he’s had in his entire life and he can’t fuck it up, he _can’t _—, “Brienne, I know what you’re thinking but I swear to whatever the fuck you want me to swear to that I’ve been wanting to do that since the third time you came in through that door, and now you’re — you’ve — if you don’t want to because you’ve just seen what’s happened you’ve got all the damned rights and I’m not going to — I mean, I think you’ve just seen how fucked up things are around here, and I’m what I am but believe me, I know what I want —” He knows he’s rambling by now, he knows it makes no sense, and he knows he’s shit at _talking_ but he needs her to know he means it, he needs to, and for a moment she _stares_ but then she moves her hands behind his neck again and her mouth is on his and —

Oh.

_Oh_, it’s obviously her first kiss, he can _feel _it, and for a moment he’s overwhelmed at the thought but then again she’s his first kiss that’s not Cersei, _isn’t she_, and he breathes in relief into her mouth as he kisses her back with all the enthusiasm he can muster, and her lips are as soft as they looked and her mouth is warm and gentle on his even if she’s inexperienced, but it doesn’t matter as he kisses her the way he’s wanted to for months until he has to move back for air and she looks like she’s about to cry —   


“I — I’ve dreamed that I kissed you,” she whispers like it’s some kind of secret, and he can’t help it - he feels himself smiling fully for the first time since he can remember in years as he hears it, shit, she _dreamed of him now_, maybe he should tell her that he did dream of her at some point, multiple times, all over, but in none of them her mouth felt so soft or warm or sweet against his, and so he lets it linger on his lips as he says -

“Then no one’s stopping you.”


End file.
